Battle Scars
by broniewenny
Summary: how did he end up here? what happened after that night? did she survive? the night after he was shot and how he comes to terms with being alive. first fic for BatB so don't hate me too much if it sucks:) rated T cos i'm unsure of the rating thingy


**This is my first published fanfic and I chose BatB **** I don't own Beauty & The Beast, if I did the first season would've been a lot different ;) all belongs to the lovely BatB writers. Please review, even if it is to criticise my story, it is totally welcomed so yeah. All mistakes are my own enjoy xo**

* * *

He opened his eyes, his head throbbing and a constant ringing sounding in his ears. He stared down his body, his bare chest being the first area his eyes landed on. He saw the marks littered across the skin, the only imperfections to grace his body. _What are they? How did I become so damaged and not even remember it happening? _The marks resembled bullet wounds and in that moment it all came back in flashes.

_The train where Muirfield had found and captured them comes into view, a herd of agents hauling them off, one of them unconscious, to their labs. Of course he didn't realise the mistake he'd made in that moment, the danger he'd put the woman he loved in. He only wanted to protect her, that's all he's ever wanted to do. He thought he was doing the right thing by her. His mind flickered to her, picturing her face, her smile, those big eyes that could reduce him to a puddle in seconds. He stopped on the image of him saying goodbye, kissing her cheek and remembering the feeling of their combined tears on his face. This was an image he wasn't going to forget soon, an image forever imprinted in his memory. He recalled the events after that, the furious voices of the agents shouting at him to "Get out the way" and "Stop them!" but all he focused on was the sound of his name leaving her lips, the shots attacking his chest and throwing him down on the cold, hard ground. _

_Did she get away? Is she even alive?_ His mind races with the questions coming hard and fast.

He sits up sharply, well he tries to. His muscles are sore, limbs heavy and weighed down, the effects of being shot he assumes. He tries to move his arm, hoping to use it as leverage to push himself up off the metal table causing his back to ache, but he's met with more resistance. This time though it's in the form of thick cuffs wrapped around both his wrists, effectively trapping him there.

He looks down to see both his ankles held tight to the table also with think cuffs. Where am I? What happened to me? Why am I being held like some sort of prisoner? His mind racing again, resting on the agents who shot him. _Was I captured by Muirfield?_ What use was he, he didn't know anything, he didn't have any helpful information that they could use. His mind stopped, _wait. _He should be dead. The damage the bullets inflicted on him, it would have been fatal, no one could have survived such an attack. How did he pull through? Even if he had, he wouldn't be quite so awake right now and he's sure he would be in an immense amount of pain. Yet here he is, breathing and moving, albeit his movement is somewhat constricted. He wonders how many days he's been here, how long since that night...the night when he should have died. He examines the scars on his skin, hoping for some insight into his current state but just then he hears footsteps followed by voices. They're getting closer as he lays his head back, closing his eyes and bracing himself for whoever is out there, but all becomes quiet. The sounds fade into the background and his focus is captured by the machines beeping around him, finally noticing the various wires sticking out of every possible vein, his hands and arms wrapped in the mess of drips and various other needles.

His head is throbbing by now, the lights above him shining with a weird glow that makes his eyes water and squint to try and somewhat clear his vision. He blinks a few more times only to open his eyes and find a short woman walking towards him. She's wearing a white coat, much like his own back at the precinct. A soft expression appears on her face and she smiles at him, moving around to stand at his head, grasping it with both hands as he attempts to resist her touch. He jerks his body, but it stiffens as he once again hears footsteps approaching him. No voices accompany them this time, just the clicking of heels and scuffing of another, less menacing pair of shoes.

His whole body freezes, becoming unresponsive, only his head able to move freely but he's afraid to even turn his eyes in the direction of the noise. His head is easily pulled back down to lie on the table. He can feel the clip closing around his neck, immobilizing him but he's too distracted to even notice as yet another cuff holds his body flush with the slab beneath him. He realises any attempt to break free has now been halted by the contraption.

_What is this place? Has Muirfield captured me? Am I one of their experiments now? _His worst fears are confirmed as he looks up into the cold, hard eyes of the Muirfield agent now standing by his side, the short doctor having moved to stand on his left side.

"Welcome back Dr Marks. How are we feeling?"


End file.
